Just Another Day on the Job
by Pookieh
Summary: Katniss is faced with a dilemma when asked to relocate a food truck illegally parked at their construction site…that is, if she can keep her eyes off the owner's goods long enough to get the job done. Modern AU Everlark. Written for Prompts in Panem.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters of The Hunger Games (although I wish I did).

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"Everdeen!" Thanks to my sweaty palms, I almost lose my grip on the traffic sign I'm holding up and crane my head over my shoulder. "There's another one here today," Abernathy says, jutting his chin forward towards a truck parked across the street. "Deal with it, sweetheart."

If it'd been anyone else calling me "sweetheart", they'd have had an up close and personal encounter with the backside of my hand, but being my perpetually grouchy yet admittedly tolerable boss, I let the pet name slide.

Left with no other choice, I flag down my friend Gale who's wandering about trying to look busy (but who's really on his fourth coffee break this morning) and toss him the sign. "Why do I always get stuck with this kinda shit?"

Gale twirls the pole in his hand and barks an unsympathetic laugh. "I'd attribute it to your charming personality…but we both know that's a lie."

He dodges a swift kick to the shins and taps me on the ass with the sign. Damn pig. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be out here. Sweating buckets on this busy, dusty street while flipping a "stop" and "go slow" sign every three minutes with one hand and flipping the bird to every third car with the other.

Ok. So I admit it. I was desperate. With the constant hike in college tuition almost every semester, my usual summer job as a bartender at The Hob just wasn't going to cut it. I needed a second source of income and I'd convinced myself I was just about ready to sign up for anything. But this? This was hell. Being the only girl on a construction crew of over thirty-five men, ranging from zit faced late teens to pot-bellied old farts in their late fifties, well…we'll just say it's a good thing I was born with a thick skin. The only silver lining of the job was the pay. At $12 an hour, I could deal with the lewd cat calls and leering stares for two more months.

I brush the sweat soaked strands of hair off my forehead as I wait for a chance to cross the street, all the while counting down the minutes until quitting time when I can race home and jump under the spray of a cold, refreshing shower.

"Ten bucks and this blueberry muffin if you get the guys number," a voice calls out from my left. I don't need to look to know that it's Darius, a friendly yet overly confident buddy of Gale's who's been not so subtly trying to get _my_ number since the day I started. He's harmless really, but I just wish he'd take a hint and move on.

I humor him with a casual glance and in response I'm met with a smirk as he shakes the pastry at me like a dangling worm on a hook. "You're disgusting," I call out over my shoulder before darting through a break in the traffic.

It's been a running joke amongst a few of the crew members from the last guy I was forced to kick off the work site. For some reason, food truck operators think construction sites are the Holy Grail of places to set up shop during the summer. News flash. It's a _construction site_. Heavy machinery. Overhead cranes. Traffic cones. You can't just roll on in and park next to a gigantic hole in the ground.

Two weeks ago, a guy who had to be at least twice my age, parked right in front of the site entrance. Low and behold, I drew the shortest of straws and was nominated to deal with the matter, which involved conversing with said old man and his greasy pulled back hair that gave his greasy hot dogs a run for their money. During our thankfully brief exchange of words, his eyes had been glued to my chest the entire time, not at all making a conscience effort to look at my face or acknowledge that he'd heard a word I said. After making use of a few choice phrases to try and get through to him, he still didn't budge. He even had the audacity to offer me his "choice wiener" free of charge, which sent me storming off in a heated rage. The sleazebag finally took a hint and moved on when Gale paid him a visit twenty minutes later, waving his hands frantically and shouting lord knows what as he chased the guy off.

Not this time. In preparation for what I'm sure is going to be a similar experience, I run through my approach and practice the lines over and over again in my head. Short and to the point. And don't take any shit. That's the best way to go. Besides, since my encounter with the old grease ball, I've picked up a few vulgar comebacks that I've been storing in my back pocket in case the situation presented itself again. I'm not having Gale show up again afterwards to finish the job or else no one around here will ever respect me.

The first thing I notice as I approach the truck is the way the vivid orange paint sends out a blinding glare under the bright sun. I lift up a hand to shade my eyes and squint as I try to decipher the loopy scroll on the back door. _Mellark's Bakery – Gourmet Sandwiches and Pastries_. Hmmm. Never heard of them. And by the looks of all the polished chrome, I have to admit the thing looks a little pretentious and out of place here in this dingy part of town.

I inhale a deep breath and study my reflection in the shiny bumper. I consider foregoing the hardhat, but without it I'd just look like a stupid little girl who has no business being on a construction site, let alone possessing the power to wield any sort of authority. I square my shoulders and school my features into my best bitch face possible, ready for the unpleasant conversation to come.

I round the corner to the other side of the truck and peer in through open counter but all my built up courage flies right out the window and I swallow thickly. A guy stands with his back to me, his toned arm stretched out over his head as he writes something out on the blackboard menu above him. But that's not what catches my attention. Not what causes my lungs to forget how to function. It's rather the view just below, where the most perfectly rounded ass I've ever laid eyes on is staring straight back at me. Holy hell. The way his khaki shorts just hang off his hips and hug the curves of that just flawlessly gorgeous backside…it's damn well the kind of ass you want to sink your teeth into. Although, I don't think I've ever had the urge to do so before, but there's a first time for everything, right?

"Shit," he hisses all of a sudden.

I have to keep myself from lunging forward for a better look when the guy drops the caulk in his hand and leans over in search for it amongst a basket of plastic wrapped pastries. One word. That's all I need to hear. I don't even have to see this guy's face to know what lies behind that deep, husky voice.

Suddenly unsure of why I'm even here, I do a quick glance around to see if anyone's just caught me ogling this stranger's ass. In an attempt to locate my common sense, I force my attention upwards towards a safer place. The menu. _Sandwiches: Today's Special – Oven roasted turkey breast, avocado, and roasted red peppers on sourdough with aioli and pesto mayo_. My eyes follow the trail of dots to the price and I almost choke on my next breath. $6.50 for a fucking sandwich? Who does this guy think he is?

He finally turns around as I punch a fist to my chest to clear my throat. With my eyes shut, I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat whilst trying to visualize my happy place. I need to get my thumping heart under control before I do something stupid. Like pass out.

Deep breath in. Cool tropical breeze. Deep breath out. Calm blue ocean. Deep breath—

"Are you alright?"

I pry my eyes open and gaze slack jawed at the two calm blue oceans staring back at me. Pair them with an adorable lop sided grin filled with the most brilliantly white teeth ever, oh, and a mop of curly blond hair just begging to have hands dragged though it…yeah, I'm doing just fine.

A moment later I come to my senses and hope to God he doesn't notice the flush creeping up my cheeks. Of all days, fate had to pick today as being the one I come face to face with the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. I glance down and cringe at my filthy t-shirt, baggy jeans, one-size-fits-all-my-ass safety vest, and hardhat combination. Not to mention my grimy hair that's pulled back into a messy braid with sweat dripping down my temples.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Well that's a relief." His smile widens and I swear it's so sweet I can feel my teeth ache. "So, how can I help you?"

Oh right. Move the truck. But I can't bring myself to start into my previously rehearsed speech. Just the thought of being rude to this guy with the sugary smile and well toned biceps and ass sculpted by the gods themselves…it'd be a sin. I'd never forgive myself.

Casual. Keep it casual. "So, uh, you must be new here—"

"Yeah, actually," he says with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "Today's my first day out here with the truck. New venture and all. So, what can I get you?"

Great. It's the guy's first day on the job and here I am about to give him an earful and boot him out of this spot. Why is he still smiling at me? Damn that smile. I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts so I don't end up sounding too much like a complete bitch. Here goes nothing.

"Uh…um…well, actually…"

"I know, it's a tough choice. But if I might be so bold, I'd say go for the special. Trust me, you won't be disappointed."

The way the corner of his mouth lifts before he presses his lips together…oh God, the things I'd let this complete stranger do to me with that mouth. Fuck. Get it together, Everdeen. The guy's obviously just proud of his goods…I mean buns…I mean food. And the way his eyes dip as if he's subtly giving me a once over. He's definitely not checking out _my_ goods. That's for sure. More like wondering if I can even afford anything off his damn menu.

But I don't have my wallet on me, so even if I wanted to humor this guy and be his first customer, I'm shit out of luck.

"Truth is, I don't have my wallet on me—"

"Oh that's OK," he interrupts again with a wave of his hand. "You're my first customer, so whatever you like is on the house."

Good looking _and_ generous. Damn it. He's making this more difficult by the minute. I bite down on my lip, the guilt of having to turn this guy out bearing down on my conscience. "No, that's OK, really, I couldn't accept—"

"Really, I insist!" He leans forward to rest his hands against the counter, allowing me to get a full appreciation for the wide breadth of his shoulders. There's no stopping my roaming eyes that are drawn like a magnet to the cut lines of his muscles beneath his white tee. Seriously? The guy's built like a fucking professional athlete and yet here is his, selling sandwiches and pastries out of a food truck. I bet he owns the place too. Mellark's was it? No need to double check. It's scrawled across his chest in bright blue stitching on the apron he's wearing.

And those hands. I start to feel light headed at the thought of what this guy could do with those hands. Bake bread obviously. Toss a hundred pound sack of flour over his shoulder. Toss a scrawny hundred pound girl like me over his shoulder too no doubt. I lick my lips and swallow to coat my suddenly parched throat. It's the heat. It's definitely just the heat.

"Anything catch your eye?" He steps to the side as if to give me a better view of the menu.

Yeah, you.

I shake my head. It's becoming quite clear that he won't take no for an answer, so I scan the items again for the cheapest possible one. At least the baked goods are all under three bucks, still pricey if you ask me, but when I glance over at the basket housing the pastries, I'm faced with another dilemma. How am I supposed to make up my mind? Cookies. Bars. Muffins. Cupcakes. Everything just looks so damn tasty.

"Well, all those look good." I gesture towards the basket. "How about something from there?"

"You sure? I really can't interest you in a sandwich? Or something a little more substantial?" I regretfully shake my head at the same time my traitorous stomach decides to make an audible public protest. "OK then, well, what are you in the mood for? Something sweet or savory?"

It's too early in the day for something sweet. Besides, the sugar rush in combination with the lightheadedness I'm already struggling with would most likely lead to a headache.

"Or how about both?" Jeez, give this guy an inch and he takes the whole fucking mile. "Here, I know just what you need." He spins on his heel and bends over to grab something from a shelf under the counter.

My bottom lip finds a home between my teeth and I bit down hard to keep my eyes off his rear. What is _wrong_ with me? I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other until he finally reappears, a pair of thongs in hand with a honey colored bun smothered in melted shredded cheese between the silicone tips.

"These are our famous cheese buns." He places it gingerly into a brown paper bag with the Mellark's logo stamped on the front. "I guarantee you'll love it."

In the process of handing it over, his fingertips gently brush up against mine. Despite the heat, the brief contact sends a shiver up my arm and down my spine as if I'd just been doused by a bucket of ice water.

"Thanks," I mumble, glancing down at the bag in my hand and then back up at him. If I don't wrap this up soon, it's inevitable that I'll say something idiotic.

So I avert my eyes and just as I turn to leave, he calls out. "Hope to see you again soon?"

Shit. I almost forgot about the truck. The bag now hangs heavy in my hand like it's full of gravel and the guilt comes rushing back tenfold. "Uh, yeah, about that…the reason I came over here in the first place is because you can't park here. You're parked in an active part of the construction zone."

He narrows his eyes and then sticks his head out past the counter to survey the surroundings. "Oh shit, sorry. I had no idea."

"Oh, that's OK. No way you could've known." The crestfallen and confused look on his face tugs at my heart strings and with a heavy sigh, I take a quick glance around. "You see that spot over there?" I hitch my thumb over my shoulder towards the empty lot on the other side of the street. "That's where we keep our cars during the day. You can park over there instead. Besides, I'm sure you'll get more business there too. There's another construction site up the street that uses the lot too."

His lips curl up in a pleasing way and I can't help but return the smile. "Thanks," he says. "So, I'll see you tomorrow then?" I look back up at him skeptically but he continues before I can get a word in. "Tomorrow's lunch is on me."

"Oh really," I reply, arching an unconvinced eyebrow at him. "And what guarantee do I have that you'll make good on your word? What if I show up here tomorrow and you don't even remember who I am?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," he says in a hushed tone, causing me to inch forward to hear him better. "Your face is the prettiest one I've seen all day today."

A horrid snort escapes me and my insides cringe at how utterly unattractive I'm making myself look right now. "If you haven't noticed, I'm the only female within a half-mile radius. There's not much competition around here."

He regards me for a second then says, "Something tells me you wouldn't have much competition anywhere." His eyes blatantly drop to my lower lip that's somehow got caught between my teeth again.

His lips part slightly and I catch a glimpse of something pink peeking out from the corner of his mouth. All of a sudden I'm acutely aware of the wetness that's been slowly seeping into my panties. Sweat. It's just sweat. But my weak attempt at denial doesn't keep my thighs from clenching together as he drags his tongue across to wet his lips.

Damn he's smooth. Too smooth almost. But he must sense I'm not completely convinced when he holds up a finger for me to wait. He reaches over to a stack of cards over by the cash register and I try not to draw too much attention to my curiously as I push up on my tip toes to see what he's up to. He locates a pen and strokes out a bunch of "x's" in quick succession before straightening up and sliding the card towards me.

"Here, to prove that I'll make good on my word."

I glance over the "Buy 10 sandwiches get the next one free!" line printed across the top of the card and of course all the boxes are marked off. But before I can make a swipe at the card, he draws it back and gives me a stern look.

"Now wait a minute, how do _I_ know you'll make good on your part of the deal and actually show up tomorrow?"

With cat like reflexes I snatch the card back and shove it into my back pocket, grinning up at him in triumph. "I guess you'll just have to take my word for it."

Although it's not even a question at this point. Of course I'm coming back. As much as I hate to admit it, even if he hadn't offered me a free meal ticket, I have a feeling I'd have found my way back here just to catch a glimpse of that flawless ass. Oh God. Now look who's the leering pervert. One month on a construction crew and I'm already on the other side of the fence.

I release a sigh and look back across the street to where Gale and Darius are watching me from their perch on the concrete wall, both shoveling their lunches into their mouths. Shit. They've obviously been watching me this whole time, so there's no way I'll be able to escape without an earful. And when they find out I scored a free treat out of today's encounter, I won't hear the end of it. And when they see this guy back the next day and I show up with a free lunch…I'll never live this down.

The smirk on Gale's face is unmistakable, even from here, and out of spite; I return it with a not so subtle wave of my middle finger. I turn back around and with a nod of my head say, "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He flashes me that sexy grin as if he knows he's already got me hooked. Cocky bastard. "Maybe," I throw in just for good measure.

"Oh wait!" He twists back around after fumbling with another paper bag for a few seconds then hands it over to me. "Here, for helping me out today."

I take the second bag. The heat radiating from it takes me slightly off guard and I curiously peek inside. It's a pastry of some kind and despite my earlier disregard for sweets this early in the morning, my mouth waters at the sight. "You really don't have to."

"Honestly, if it'd been one of your friends over there to come and give me the boot, I'm pretty sure things wouldn't have gone so smoothly." He beams back at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that makes me want to reach out and caress his cheek. Fuck, I don't even know this guy's name!

When I'm finally able to tear myself away from his chiseled jaw, I take a step back and with a final smile take my leave.

"Wait!" he calls out again. "What's your name?"

I pause for a minute, trying to wrap my head around the fact that this guy is asking for my name. I kick at the dirt with the toe of my scuffed up work boot. Ah what the hell. "Katniss, my name is Katniss."

"Pleasure meeting you Katniss. I'm Peeta."

"Like the bread?" I chuckle but regret it instantly. God I'm an insensitive idiot. I bet he gets that every time and here I am already poking fun at the guy after he just gave me not one but two free treats and the promise of a free lunch.

He laughs though in response and the deep, raspy sound eases some of my tension. "Yeah, like the bread, but spelled differently."

Fitting. For a baker that is. I shake my head but it doesn't have any effect on dislodging the grin plastered across my face. By the time I make it back across the street, gripping both brown paper bags tightly in my fist, I can't help but sneak one last glance over my shoulder. He's still staring at me and I whip my head back around so fast my braid smacks me across the nose.

"Looks like someone got lucky," Darius grins as he gestures towards my hand.

"Damn straight."

"Well, he obviously thought you were cute," Gale says with a teasing lilt to his voice. "No way your skills in negotiation had anything to do with it."

"And too bad you didn't get his number," Darius chimes in victoriously. "Or else you'd be able to score a free meal to go along with whatever's in the bag."

"Whatever," I grumble, feeling somewhat annoyed that I didn't in fact somehow get his number. But even if I had by some miraculous twist of fate, what then? He probably goes home every night to some gorgeous girl who gets to take full advantage of her rights to grab his perfect ass any time she damn wants. While I get to go home tonight and pathetically get myself off while imagining what it would feel like to dig my fingers into his backside as he mercilessly pounds into me. Yeah, there's no fucking way a guy like that goes home to an empty bed.

I shake my head in hopes of preventing other dirty thoughts from creeping into my already fouled mind and glance back down at the bags again. Which one to dig into first. If I can't have him, I can at least enjoy something made by him.

Something on the front of the bag catches my eyes though. Holy shit. There it is. Hastily scribbled in blue ink right below the Mellark's logo along with the correct spelling of his name.

"Ha," I shout, turning my attention back to Darius and shoving the bag up to his face.

His lips flatten into a disappointing frown as he squints to decipher the digits and make sure I'm not lying. With a heavy sigh he digs into his lunch box to produce a ten, slapping it into my open palm before reaching back in to fetch his muffin.

"Don't bother," I say, throwing a hand up to stop him. "You can keep your crusty old muffin."

Both his and Gale's eyes go wide with envy as I slowly remove the still warm blueberry Danish from the bag. I bring it up to face, inhaling deeply before sinking my teeth into the flaky layers. My eyes shut on their accord as the flavors dance along my taste buds, and a guttural moan escapes me as I reach up to swipe at the cream cheese frosting melting down my chin. Fuck this is amazing.

Just then, the double beep of a horn causes all three of us to turn our heads. I quickly swallow as the bright orange truck drives past us with Peeta's head hanging out the window as he flashes me that sexy grin.

"I dunno, man," Gale says, elbowing Darius in the shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows in my direction. "Looks to me like she scored more than she bargained for."

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**Author's Note:** This was written for the September 2014 Round of PiP, hope you enjoyed it! Thanks to Jessa (misshoneywell) for all her time and hard work this round, and if you haven't checked out the submissions, I suggest you do!

_Tumblr: Pookieh_


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